


Secrets of the Universe

by Jayzibeth (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Existential Crisis, Homesick Lance (Voltron), I’ve forgotten everything about america, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith is a sad soothsayer boi, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Magical Realism, Modern Era, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Past Allura/Lance (Voltron), Past Character Death, Road Trips, discontinued, lance is a sad farm boi, themes of death, though maybe i’ll come back and rewrite it one day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Jayzibeth
Summary: Lance, having been through a recent and awful breakup, didn’t expect to nearly die first thing on a Monday morning. He certainly didn’t expect the subsequent road trip, run from death, and the company of a moody, darkly-dressed boy able to predict disaster who seems determined to keep him alive. As he drives through the desert on the run from his fate, Lance begins to learn more about himself and about Keith, the boy who holds Lance’s life in his hands, as well as about the path that he will have to choose if he survives and is reborn.
Relationships: Allura & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Lance's Family (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 84





	1. Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! Quickly:  
> \- I didn’t finish season 8 of Voltron  
> \- This work is inspired by They Both Die At The End by Adam Silvera and Aristotle and Dante Discover The Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz if ya’ll are looking for book recs  
> \- I’m from the UK but you literally can’t set road trips here. This place is too damn small. So Americans, please be willing to bear this inaccurate Euro-merican blend of a road trip tale.
> 
> With that out of the way: Rock and Roll, buckaroo!

“I still don’t understand,” Lance said quietly. 

“That’s the problem,” Allura said, her voice crackling a little at the other end of Lance’s cheap phone. She sounded exhausted. Her mannerisms came to mind: the way she’d pinch the bridge of her nose when she thought no-one was looking, sit straight when anyone said her name, laugh with her hand over her mouth with a consistent sense of dignity. She’d likely be rubbing at her temples now, like she always did when he tired her out.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry, I really am. But please, please let me get back to my work. Pick your things up at eight or I’ll just leave them outside the door.”

She hung up. Lance slipped his phone away and looked up, forcing himself to ease his breathing. The early sky was the brightest blue, streaked with the white cotton candy dust of clouds, though to him the city skyline would never be as bright as the permanent blue roof that drifted over his family’s farm. The air would never be as clear, the people never as kind, the world never seeming so endless.

But thinking about that never did him any good. The only thing that could fix the familiar growing lump in his throat was cold, sweet coffee. Lance shook his head, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and forced a skip into his step as he made his way down the street.

A new beginning, he told himself. The end of their thirteen-month relationship was really just a fresh start. To be fair, he hadn’t been in love with the person he had been becoming – quieting for Allura, calming for her, trying to puzzle his way around the hills and valleys of her lifestyle. But Allura had been the first person he’d truly cared about – the first girl he’d loved, and wasn’t that the scary part? To think that that kind of devotion could never rear its ugly head again?

She’d been the anchor, the thing that had kept him grounded in this city after the blank uncertainty of college. Gone, now. It was entirely his fault. He should’ve tried harder.

The bell of the coffee shop announced him with a cheerful little chime, making Lance feel even more bitter than the drink he was planning to down. He got in line behind a darkly-dressed boy with a stupid haircut and ordered the most caffeinated drink he could think of. The distraction calmed him somewhat – after ordering, he lay across the counter and tapped his fingers along to the song he had stuck in his head, losing his mind in the buzz of the machines and chatter of the crowd inside the coffee shop.

Had he seen it coming? Most definitely. The strained smiles, the cancelled dates, the jewellery he had bought her gathering dust on the stand. Pink and sparkly, like the stuffed unicorn he’d won for her at a fete stand in the first months of their relationship. But he’d tried his hardest to make it work. He’d called, texted, asked her about her day, made her dinner whenever he could. Which was often. Lance’s lack of direction reflected in his career – moving from job to job, never steady, always fired for one reason or another. Meant he had a lot of evenings free. The lack of financial stability was yet another reason why she had refused to move in with him. (Or, more accurately, let him move in with her.)

“You and I are opposites. We don’t work,” she said to him, after he’d made a joke that had crossed an invisible line and she’d asked him to leave her apartment. “I’m sorry.”

He’d failed to see the logic in that. What did it matter if they were different? (Everything, apparently.)

He realised somebody was observing him. After watching one too many ghost-hunting shows late at night on the farm, Lance had become used to figuring out when he was being watched and when he wasn’t. He looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with the guy who had been standing in front of him in line. The boy was tall, almost as lanky as Lance himself, with long, unkempt dark hair tied back loosely into a ponytail and angular violet eyes. He appeared to be around eighteen to twenty, same as Lance. The boy rather resembled the guys Lance had trailed after in middle school, the ones he had been drawn to for reasons unknown until years later when he finally got to the bottom of his fascination with gay porn and came out as bi to his family in the world’s most awkward dinner. (They’d been very accepting, though, and his sister had got him a pride flag for Christmas.) Amusingly on topic, the boy was wearing a little rainbow pin on his leather jacket.

Lance waved at him. “Am I in your way?”

The boy started, almost as if he hadn’t realised he was staring. He frowned at Lance like he was puzzled, then quickly shook his head. 

Lance grinned, winked, and turned back around, fishing in his pocket for his phone. Part of him dared to expect missed calls, perhaps a long, soppy text from Allura explaining how they were meant to be together after all, how she’d made a mistake, how she was going through a hard time but the power of true love would be able to save her.

But he’d obviously been reading too many cheap romance bestsellers. There was only the meme Pidge had sent to the group chat an hour ago, when Lance had been too busy crying to open it. He unlocked his phone and began to scroll back through the messages, allowing himself to be comforted by Pidge’s snark and Hunk’s gentle reprimands. They were his friends from when he lived on the farm – the only high school friends he’d managed to stay in contact with after moving to the city – and he missed them something awful. His city friends were all flighty and rich and glamorous, connections made through Allura – there was no swinging in tyres across the lake, staying up as long as possible to wait for the stars to come out, making crummy jokes about things that happened ten years ago and certainly no laughing until his stomach hurt. He hadn’t seen Pidge and Hunk in a while. He was terrified that if he went back home, he’d find himself never getting going again. 

The guy was still staring at him. Lance allowed himself to think that it was because the guy was checking him out - it would certainly be a much-needed ego boost. Eventually, the boy came forward, taking a black coffee from the barista and downing it in one go like he was a desperately thirsty Sahara survivor. Lance grinned up at him, still slouched.

“Tough day incoming?” he asked conversationally.

“Something like that,” the guy said. He looked down at Lance, his face coming to rest in a sort of pout, before he frowned again like he’d been possessed with the desire to overcome a sort of mystery. It was rather cute.

“You come here often?”

Lance felt almost like a bounder, though there was no uncertainty in his mind that whatever had been between himself and Allura was over. Maybe he’d end up hooking up with this guy outside Starbucks like some sad bad boy protagonist from a Wattpad movie, desperately trying to beat his emotions into a bloody pulp.

“Nope,” the guy said, throwing his cup expertly in the trash. Maybe he bowled for a team. He made his way towards the door, his hips swaying prettily, before he stopped and turned back to Lance for just a moment. He seemed to mull something over for a second.

“Take care of yourself,” he said to Lance.

Then he was gone.

Lance was bemused, to say the least. He took his drink when it came, flashing his best smile at the barista, and took the longest swig possible before pacing out of the crowded area. The air outside was baking hot, the sun glaring nastily, so he threw his jacket over his arms and went fishing around in the endless pockets for his earphones. He needed to play something at full volume to chase the threads of his last fight with Allura out of his mind. He settled on something from the charts, shaking his head in time to the beat and making up his mind to walk to a friend’s house nearby so that he could lie on their couch and complain for a while. 

The song blasted in Lance’s ears, to the point of making him blissfully unaware of his surroundings. He made his way to the nearest curb, blending in with a crowd of chattering tourists. They reminded him of himself and Allura, in that tragic ex way – of when they and their friends (or Allura’s friends, as he was coming to realise) would go on treasure hunts for the best parts of the city. They had once discovered a steakhouse under a bridge that did the best homemade lemonade. Allura had been accepting every refill, and he’d begged the recipe from one of the waiters so he could make it for her upcoming birthday.

Whatever. He wasn’t going to think about it. He tapped his feet until the coast was clear and stepped out into the road. 

The car came out of nowhere. He didn’t even hear it – just felt the motion as the people around him scattered, shouting and screaming and pushing one another. The battered old thing came screeching down the length of the block with a cop car in tow and Lance was frozen in place, staring, and thinking only, “this is going to be one hell of a cautionary tale”.

Then he was falling, falling back, his head hitting the tarmac, the pressure of arms around his chest and shoulder. He had fallen on top of someone, for a moment a tangle of limbs, and Lance cried out in shock and pain, his heart leaping into his mouth. He blinked away the fog and saw first his phone on the street, the screen cracked, and his coffee cup next to it, the liquid spilled out like blood.

And then - the boy from the coffee shop. The pretty one. Starer. Violet eyes. 

“You saved my life,” Lance mumbled. He was wrapped in the boy’s arms. He had pulled Lance out of the way. 

“Thank me later,” the boy snapped, pushing Lance out of his lap. “We need to move.”

“We need to – what?”

“Get up,” the boy said hurriedly, glancing over Lance’s shoulder like he was awaiting something. “You’re a target now. We need to move.”

“I – huh?”

Chaos surrounded them. A crowd had gathered, shouting and taking pictures, and the other people who had been with him on the street were sitting on the pavement, their hands over their hearts or in their hair or hovering above their mouths. There didn’t seem to be any casualties. The car that had nearly hit Lance had skidded in a circle, cutting scars into the road, and several policemen were exiting their vehicle, guns raised in the direction of the driver’s window. Lance himself was a few paces away from the pavement, lying back on his elbows, the boy who had saved his life leaning close and shouting something in Lance’s ear. 

But Lance’s mind was quiet.

All those people he wouldn’t have said goodbye to. His mother. His father. Marco, Luis, Veronica, Rachel. All the kids. Pidge and Hunk. Allura. He’d never get to tell them that he loved them again. 

He was snapped back to reality when the boy crouched before Lance and shook his shoulders. His gaze allowed Lance to focus on something – the sound came back all at once, and Lance’s hands began to shake. 

“What’s your name?” the boy asked, his grip vice-like. Lance scrabbled at the boy’s arms, searching desperately for something to ground him.

“Lance,” he managed. “Lance McClain.”

“Right. Well, I’m Keith. I’m Keith, you’re Lance, we’ve been introduced now. And we really need to move right this second, because your life is in danger.”

“You just saved it,” Lance mumbled, looking out at the wreckage. A man was crawling out of the car that nearly killed him, his hands up.

Lance had never been so unquestionably close to the end of his reality. He’d always been safe – inside the fence on the farm, hand in hand with his big sister when he crossed the street, his arm around Allura to keep her safe when they walked together late at night. He had never really stopped to question death – what he had done before, what came after, which deity (if any) was awaiting him when everything went black. Lance had always been running, in motion, a suitcase in hand and his earphones in, his back to the endless acres and pink flowers of his home.

What if he had wasted his time?

He didn’t even really know who he was. 

“I shouldn’t have. It was only temporary,” the boy said. He was breathless, his voice high with urgency, and though he had removed his hands from Lance’s shoulders, Lance could feel the tension radiating from him in waves. Allura’s best friend, Romelle, had always been going on about auras, and though that wasn’t really Lance’s scene, he could image what colour Romelle would attribute to this boy – a dark red rolling ocean. It made Lance’s pulse spike. 

“You’re not making sense.”

“I promise I’ll explain. Come with me. Please.”

The boy stood and held out his hand to Lance. He was wearing black gloves, like a 2013 Tumblr kid, and four out of five of his nails were painted black, the middle finger a bright little rainbow. Lance took his hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The world swayed, like Lance was a small boat on this boy – Keith’s – dark aura ocean. He felt a hand at his elbow, steadying him, gone a moment later, and then this Keith guy was thrusting Lance’s cracked phone into his hands and gesturing for Lance to get off the street. 

Lance should’ve really been getting to a hospital. He might have a concussion and he realised, absently, that his hands were bleeding. Keith shoved his way through the crowd, looking over his shoulder to check that Lance was following. Lance clutched his phone to his chest like it was something precious and followed the boy through the cacophony until they were at the other end, side-by-side and striding down the street. The guy kept glancing over his shoulder like he expected to be followed. Lance couldn’t help but look too – there was nothing. He stopped dead in his tracks. 

“I’m not going another step until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

The boy stopped and sighed, running a hand over his face. He looked more like an anti-hero than somebody who had just leapt into a street to pull Lance out of imminent danger. “We don’t have time for this.”

Lance just raised his eyebrow.

“Right. Fine.” The boy pinched his nose and sighed. “You know how you nearly died just then?”

“It may have crossed my mind, yeah.”

“And how I grabbed you?”

“How did you even get there?” Lance asked, folding his arms. “Were you following me? You want me to be more grateful? I’ve already said thanks.”

“Well, you didn’t, but that’s not what I-”

“Right, well, thanks. There, you’re thanked. I’m gonna go now. You’re freaking me out.”

Lance turned on his heel and marched away. Screw coffee – he’d need ten fucking shots of something strong in order to get over that ordeal. And a new phone. Maybe he’d call up Romelle and go comfort shopping. 

“You were supposed to die!” Keith called.

Lance stopped in his tracks. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” the guy said, approaching Lance once again and staring into his eyes. Lance stared back, trying to figure him out. Keith’s expression seemed open, earnest, his eyes bright in the early morning sun. But he still wasn’t making sense.

“I had this vision that you died. While we were in the coffee shop. I’ve been having them since I was a kid. And things never go well when I interfere, but I guess I did, and now you need to run. Death is coming for you, and She won’t be happy that I’ve tried to fuck Her over again.”

Silence fell between them. Keith looked rightfully embarrassed, his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, but convicted still, his chin pointed determinedly skyward. Lance shook his head and stepped back. Why did the good-looking ones always end up being nuts? He couldn’t deal with this right now. He’d nearly died, for fuck’s sake. 

“You’re crazy. Stay the hell away from me.”

“Fine!” the guy snapped. But as Lance began to walk away, footsteps thundered after him. Lance braced himself for a fight, but the guy only cut Lance off and placed a slip of paper into his hand. 

“That’s my number and my address,” Keith said, closing Lance’s fingers around the paper. His hand was sweaty. “You’re going to have another near-death experience soon. If you’d like to try and live to see retirement, that’s how you can contact me.”

Then the guy strode off, shaking his head like Lance was the crazy one and burying his edgy emo tumblr gloved hands in his pockets. Lance felt almost as if he was getting fired again – he had half a mind to run after the guy and bellow something akin to the “you can’t fire me because I quit!” bullshit that never sounded quite as funny aloud as it did in his head. 

“He’s absolutely fucking crazy,” Lance said to himself. But he slipped the bit of paper into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2o4NYf53wBk7lMfpAlCQcU?si=7cDIyn2LSYSuFAPolknK3A
> 
> When I can, I’m going to name the chapters after songs - this chapter is Fool by Cavetown


	2. A Loving Feeling

Lance knocked on the door of Allura’s apartment at eight on the dot and was surprised when Romelle was the one to throw it open. Inside, the counters were polished, the fairy lights on, the TV in the living room paused. He’d flattered himself with thoughts of Allura crying alone in semi-darkness with an overflowing wine glass in hand, mourning the loss of her one true love. Not that he wanted her to be unhappy – not at all. He just wished she could be handling it with the same level of composure and dignity that he was, which was to say none at all.

Far from going to visit friends, he’d spent his day sat in his apartment with his back to the wall worrying about dying. Stupid ponytail antihero guy. He’d sent long, soppy messages to the Garrison Gals group chat, from which he’d received a cornered text back from Hunk and several mocking GIFs from Pidge eat-my-feelings Holt. It had cheered him up significantly, and he’d gathered the courage to make himself a PB+J with the bluntest knife in the drawer. He’d video called several members of his family, answering their concerns for his well-being with a series of generic lies, and by the time evening came he was feeling significantly more stable. Said feeling was crunched under heel by the reminder that he had to go face his girlfriend. Ex girlfriend.

“Lance!” Romelle said brightly, leaping over the threshold to hug him. She seemed to second-guess the gesture when she took in his appearance. It had begun to rain on the way over, and Lance’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his college hoodie soaked through. He’d lingered outside for a bit, relishing in the feeling of water on his sunburnt skin. Allura, who managed to look perfect no matter the weather, said Lance often ended up looking something akin to a drowning rat when he went out in the rain, and in response he used to gather a puddle of water in his hands and throw it at her, both of them giggling like kids. 

Romelle was covered in the remains of a face mask and smelled suspiciously like the contents of Allura’s hoard from the store Lush, which meant Allura probably had a stressful day at work and had taken it upon herself to fix every little thing in her general area, including but not limited to Romelle’s skin. At times like these Lance used to do the washing up and forced her to relax on the sofa, which more often then not lead to her getting even more agitated.

“Hey, Romelle!” he said, blowing a kiss at her instead.

“Come in, come in,” she rushed, grabbing his hand and yanking him inside. Lance made a noise of protest but stopped short when Allura appeared in the hall. She was still in her work suit, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and her forearms lathered with soap. So she and Romelle had indeed been rifling through the self-care cabinet. It was something she and Lance had used to do together. They had dipped chips in homemade guacamole and done stupid impressions of the various celebrities on TV until it was time to peel their face masks off. 

“Hello, Lance,” she said, blowing a strand of her dyed white hair out of her eyes. He still loved the way she said his name. “You’re stuff’s in the dining area.”

“Right,” he said quietly, shifting his feet.

Romelle, as always, dived headfirst through the silence. “How have you been, Lance? Did you have an interesting day?”

“Interesting is the word for it,” he said drily, rolling up his sodden sleeves. He tried to ease off the tension with a chuckle. “I nearly died.”

“You what?” Romelle and Allura said simultaneously. Lance shrugged with an attempt at nonchalance, heading towards the dining area, and Allura stepped smartly out of his way. He made sure not to look at her.

“Nearly got hit by a car. This cute guy,” (he added the descriptor deliberately, hoping to get a reaction out of Allura and finding that there was none) “managed to pull me out of the way, though, before proceeding to go on a rant about how I was destined to die or some shit and I needed to follow him to his mysterious lair in order to get an immortality potion. Or whatever. Said he’d seen my death in a vision and now Hades himself is apparently on the hunt for me.”

“Like in Final Destination?” Romelle asked, picking up another one of Lance’s boxes. There was only three. Allura didn’t go for the last. 

Lance grinned, lifting a box with a grunt. “I guess so. Hated that franchise. The whole incident was extremely dramatic, though, so I think you would’ve enjoyed it. The guy gave me his number, which is something.” He smiled wider. “Loverboy Lance, back at it again.”

He felt stupid from the moment the words left his mouth. Allura was watching the exchange silently, the picture of maturity, and here he was making stupid romance jokes in a pathetic attempt to make her jealous. Allura never got jealous, anyway. She was entirely above it. Above him.

“People talk about that kind of thing on my forums,” Romelle mused, dropping her chin onto the box she was holding. It had been taped ineffectually, meaning Romelle probably did it, and Lance could see one of his jackets popping out, the one with the white hood that he was so fond of. He’d offered to fill the boxes himself, but Allura had insisted. Probably wanted every inch of him gone from her life as soon as possible.

“Some people claim that they see visions of death,” Romelle continued.

“Ever met a guy called Keith on there?”

“I’ve met many a strange man called Keith on the internet.”

Lance shifted the box up in his arms, smirking. “Damn, me too.” He shrugged. “Well, I’d better get these going. Acxa’s waiting for me downstairs.”

“Right,” Romelle said, nodding officially and marching out of the door. Lance watched her go, still smiling, and realised when he looked over that Allura had adopted a similar expression. He coughed, suddenly painfully aware of the butter-thick silence between them, and followed Romelle out of the door. He could feel Allura watching him and wished he could say something to her.

He wanted a real reason as to why she had broken his heart, not this vague “we don’t work” crap. He wanted to know the true reason so that he could try harder to fix himself for her – or, if not for her, then the next guy, gal or non-binary pal that came marching into his heart. He’d been doing his best, though that never quite seemed to be enough for anybody.

When he stepped out of the apartment, he saw Romelle was already down the flights of stairs and chatting with Acxa, the sour-faced mutual friend of theirs that he’d begged a ride from. It had been an enjoyable drive over, all things considered – she didn’t let him play the music, but he could tell that she had chosen things that she knew he would enjoy. 80s rock and soft LGBTs lamenting their first exes.

“Romelle!” he called. “Did you tell Acxa about your-”

“Lance,” Acxa said sharply, cutting him off, “watch out in case you fall. The steps are still wet.”

Romelle grinned at him proudly. “I nearly fell! I grabbed onto the banister and spotted the coin that had fallen out of my pocket earlier!” She fished out a quarter and waved it at him.

“Shit, lucky.” Lance said. “And thanks, Acxa. You’ve saved me from an untimely death.”

It wasn’t exactly funny, especially when considering the events of the morning, but Acxa smiled grudgingly. Lance made his way down carefully and joined in on the conversation, which was about healing crystals or something. Romelle and Acxa were Lance’s two witchy friends, which was a two witchy friends more than he had ever expected to gain in his lifetime. Acxa’s apartment, which she shared with three other girls and one grumpy dude, looked awesome, with the dark curtains and permanently lit candles and strange posters on the walls. If Lance ever decided to radically reinvent his life, he might be inclined to add a similar vibe to his kitchen, to scare the landlord away if anything. 

“Are you ready to go, Romelle?” Allura asked from behind them, making Lance jump. She was holding Lance’s third box in her arms and had changed into a dark pink dress with a sweetheart neckline, which she’d told Lance a while ago was actually her “first date” dress. The memory made Lance’s stomach plummet. He opened his mouth to compliment her, before realising that it would likely make her uncomfortable.

“Yep,” Romelle said brightly, stepping out into the rain towards Acxa’s car. She looked lovely as well now that Lance thought about it, her hair braided back into a complicated updo that contrasted nicely with her simple yellow dress. Her hair reminded him of the styles in the tutorials he’d watched in order to do Rachel’s hair for her first dates.

In that moment he felt a pang of homesickness, like a kick in the gut. His siblings would be able to give him advice on the Allura situation. Or advice in general, since Lance was clearly in need of plenty. 

They followed Romelle out to the car and stuck the boxes in the back. Lance thanked Acxa again for her help as they closed the trunk. Though he could drive, he didn’t own a car, preferring to take the subway or the bus in order to people-watch, and imagine that people were watching him. 

“Do you guys want a lift too?” Acxa asked Allura and Romelle, leaning against the driver’s window. “It’s no trouble.”

“Yes please,” said Romelle, while Allura said at the same time, “No thank you.” There was a moment where the two girls stared each other down, some sort of secret message passing between them, before Allura rolled her eyes and got in the back. Romelle grinned and followed her in and Lance, not wanting to end up getting squashed arm-to-arm with his ex girlfriend, got in the passenger seat next to Acxa. Curse her and her sudden uncharacteristic kindness. He certainly did not want to be trapped in a car with Allura with his breakup boxes looming in the boot. 

“Wear your seatbelt,” Acxa told him, smacking Lance’s hand away from the aux cord.

“Fine, mom,” Lance snapped, buckling himself in. 

Acxa stuck on something alternative and began to tap her hands on the wheel while Romelle and Allura whispered to each other from the back. It made Lance feel extremely uncomfortable. Curse him for making friends with all of Allura’s girlfriends. He’d made other acquaintances on the course, drinking and yeah-you-can-sleep-on-my-couch buddies, but with Allura being the only companion to follow him out of college, he’d only really moved in her social circles. Which didn’t really matter – he loved Romelle and Acxa – but in that moment he missed his friends from home something awful, and wished that he had an excuse to text the group chat so that Pidge would bully him. 

They made their way into the inner part of the city, nearing Lance’s home, and all began to sing along to Queen when they came up on shuffle. Allura seemed to have grown less bitter about getting a lift with him – she was humming along to the instrumental of Bohemian Rhapsody and smiling at the city as it passed by her window. Lance twisted back in his seat to watch her. The yellow lights on her face, the curve of her eyelashes - God, she was beautiful.

“What the fuck?” Acxa yelled, snapping him out of his stupor. She was gripping the wheel, eyes wide as she glared out through the rain-sodden windshield. Lance opened his mouth to question her, interrupted as the car suddenly lurched and spun out right across the road. Lance’s head smacked against the window and he hollered with terror as they twisted and the car tipped and he thought, this is it, I’m going to die for real, I’ll die for real and my only claim to fame will be the seven months I worked at the McDonalds with the actually working ice cream machine.

But just as instantaneously as the car had spun out, it came to a screeching halt. Cars honked outside and the rain thundered down. Lance rubbed his head and turned quickly to check on the others. They seemed fine, if a little shaken, all of them thrown to the right side of the car. Romelle’s lovely hair was a mess, Allura’s eyes wide with terror, and Acxa was laughing hysterically with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel, Freddie Mercury still crooning from the speaker.

“Are all of you alright?” he demanded, looking to each of them in turn. “Acxa, can you talk?”

“Oh, Lance, your head,” Allura said quietly, pointing. Lance touched his temple and winced, his fingers coming away bloody. 

He could’ve died. Again. They all could have died.

“I have to go,” Lance mumbled, fumbling with the car door. He was shaking yet again. “Is everyone alright?”

They nodded, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“I have to go,” Lance repeated, finally managing to throw open the door. He stepped out, sucking in lungfuls of the crisp night air. His blood thundered in his ears and his heart beat like a trapped songbird in his chest, flapping ineffectually with terro.

He could have died. Again. Just like Keith predicted. 

“Lance, where are you going?”

Lance turned – Allura had stepped out of the car, her knuckles paling as she clutched the frame of the door, her hair flying about her face. Rain battered against her skin, mixing with the shocked tears on her cheeks. He couldn’t die and not see that face again. He ran back to her, sweeping her into a hug, letting her go before she had the chance to embrace him back or grow uncomfortable. 

“I’ve got to talk to someone. Can you hold onto my stuff for a little while longer?”

“Lance, what…”

“Please stay safe.”

He ran off into the rain before he could receive further reply, fumbling around in his pocket for Keith’s note. He could call an Uber – but no. He couldn’t get more people in danger. He’d almost killed Acxa and Romelle and Allura.

It couldn’t be a coincidence – two near fatalities by car in one day? Whether this Keith guy was crazy or not, he was certainly beginning to make more sense on the other side of Lance’s second near death experience of the day. He clutched the note in his hand, memorising the address – it wasn’t too far - and set off at a run, pushing his way through the gawking onlookers of the crash.

What if people in other cars had been injured? What if they’d almost hit someone, causing Acxa to jerk the wheel? What if they actually had hit someone? It would be all his fault. 

Whatever was going on, he had to try and get to the bottom of it before more people were hurt.

Lance had been on the track team in high school. (Not that he had been particularly committed.) He didn’t break his run until he was halfway to the Marmora area, where he bent double and stared at the crumpled note in his hands. He was soaked to the bone, shivering, the sound of his friend’s screams echoing still across his mind. He hoped they were okay, that they weren’t scared or, God forbid, out in the rain looking for him. The passers-by stared at him, clutching their umbrellas close, until Lance started to sprint once again. 

He reached Marmora in a few minutes. This Keith guy apparently lived in a set of gothic, looming apartments, with a depressing view of a crumbling concrete wall. Though appropriate considering what Lance remembered of him, it certainly wasn’t a pretty area. Lance was second-guessing himself as he looked up at the dull yellow light emitting from the windows. Until a half hour ago, he’d assumed that Keith was crazy, and he hadn’t been given any concrete evidence to alter that belief. So what if Lance had nearly died twice in a row that day? It didn’t mean anything. Stranger things had happened in his life. Like the weird faces he’d sometimes seen in the cornfields. Even his brother Luis didn’t fuck with the corn.

He thought of Acxa, Romelle and Allura’s terrified faces, and stepped towards the flats. 

Inside the building apparently nicknamed “the blade”, there was a single, raggedy chair, a scuffed carpet and a lonely faded lightbulb swinging from the ceiling. This Keith guy was apparently residing in apartment 19. Add fifty onto that, Lance thought half heartedly, too exhausted to even laugh at his own stupid joke. He raised a rain-sodden finger and pressed the appropriate button. There was a buzz and moments later a click, which meant there must be someone listening on the other end.

What was he doing?

“Uh…” Lance leaned in to the intercom, feeling stupid. “The name’s Lance? We met earlier today.”

There was a warm chuckle at the other end, which somehow set Lance’s mind at ease. 

“Congrats on surviving the day,” a voice said, unmistakably Keith’s. The door beside Lance buzzed open.


	3. Sleep on the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dog and some talking.

Keith had neglected to mention that the elevator was busted. “Busted” was actually an apt descriptor for the entire building – dark, dingy and dull, with a distinctly miserable air that left Lance feeling even more sorry for himself. He trudged up the flights to apartment 19, which was quite a way up the slim building, and raised his fist to knock.

He could still turn back. Go home to his small, comforting apartment, where there were no adorable potential serial killers or imminent dangers or cars that could crash him about or whatever, whatever, whatever. Though, if said potential serial killer was correct, the danger was going to follow Lance wherever he went. There was no comfort, no cleft in the rock of the world that he could hide in. And he would much rather get to the bottom of things.

With the terror of the car crash behind him, Lance felt it for the first time – a sense of intrigue, of adventure. The taste of it was what had sent him to the city, to college, and to Allura, and what had kept him uncertain and shifting from the moment he arrived. He wanted to move. He wanted to find out who he was and what everything meant. As much as his parents wanted it for him, he wasn’t supposed to grow old on the farm. They’d talked about building him a house on the land for him and Lance had started packing that very night.

He knocked. The sound echoed with finality: there was no going back.

From inside there was a skidding clatter, something vaguely familiar, before the door slid partially open and two faces appeared in the crack. Keith’s, droopy-eyed and pretty – and the long nose of an enormous collie dog, sniffing at Lance as best it could. 

Lance’s face lit up. “Wait, you have a-”

“Shut up about it,” Keith hissed, looking up and down the empty corridor. “I’m not supposed to have a-”

“Doggie!” Lance whispered excitedly, dropping to his knees and holding out his arms. Keith, apparently relenting, let go of both the door and the dog, and the collie jumped into Lance’s embrace, licking his face with determined gusto. Lance giggled and tangled his hands in the dog’s scruff, feeling suddenly comforted. Serial killers didn’t keep huge, excitable dogs. His family had collies on the farm, for working the sheep, and Lance had always volunteered to feed them, more often than not ending up playing with the pups until his father came to fetch him for bed.

He pushed the dog’s tongue out of his face and kissed the huge thing between the eyes. “Who’s gorgeous? Who’s gorgeous?”

“We’re not supposed to keep dogs, so I’d appreciate you shutting up about it,” Keith snapped. He almost seemed to be smiling, though. He looked exhausted – leaning against the door and looking down at Lance, tapping his still-gloved hands against the frame. His long hair was loose about his shoulders and he had changed into a tank top that showed off his lightly toned arms, a red flannel tied around his waist. Lance remembered him having a nice waist. He coughed and pushed the dog out of his lap, brushing off his sodden jeans.

“Dear me, the landlord won’t be happy, will they?” 

Keith snorted. “Did you have a swim in a fountain?”

Lance shook out his sleeves. “It certainly look like it, doesn’t it?” The dog, who Lance guessed was still a puppy, grabbed Lance’s hoodie and pulled at it, making him grin.

“It looks like you got tossed in with the laundry,” Keith snarked. “Anyways, I guess you should come in.”

Keith snapped his fingers at the dog, who bustled inside, and held open the door expectantly for Lance. Lance hesitated.

“If it helps,” Keith said, blowing a chunk of hair out of his eyes, “I’m not going to lock the door. Or take you hostage, or kill you, or whatever.”

Lance leaned back against the wall, crossing his legs. “You’ve certainly thought this through.”

“Let’s just say I’ve done this a lot before. Are you coming in or not?”

Lance shrugged with feigned nonchalance and passed through the doorway. The apartment wasn’t much prettier than it’s exterior. The interior was small and chaotic – there was a kitchen with an overflowing sink and open shelves, battered black couches covered in clothes and a bike helmet and hair and dog toys, and a huge dog bed and toy basket that the dog was digging through. The place looked lived in, though, and was passably clean, smelling like wood smoke – just looked like it belonged to somebody who didn’t spend much time sitting around. 

Lance made a beeline for the dog and started playing tug of war with the rope it had retrieved. When he glanced back at Keith, he saw the boy was holding a towel out and frowning at him. He threw the towel at Lance, who caught it deftly and gave him a short, awkward nod of thanks. 

“So what incident brought you crawling – or, should I say, swimming – to my humble abode?” Keith asked, leading over on the couch.

“Got in a car crash,” Lance muttered. He rubbed the towel through his curls and stripped off his hoodie. The towel smelled like sage and clean laundry, the latter reminding him inexplicably of his mother. Keith was still watching him when he emerged, tapping the sofa and scowling contemplatively. He was going to get frown lines. 

“Nearly got my girl- nearly got my ex girlfriend and my friends killed.”

Keith sucked his teeth. “Are they alright?”

“They seemed mostly shaken up, I think. I guess the whole incident convinced me that you’re not entirely crazy.” He paused. “ZSorry for snapping at you before, by the way.”

Keith shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“And thanks again.” Lance stoked the dog’s silky ears. “For, you know… saving my life.”

Keith nodded awkwardly. Silence fell. Lance moved his hands to the dog’s thick scruff and breathed, in and out. He knew his friends would be fine. They were a tough bunch. One time he emerged from the bathroom at a party and found a guy lying on his back in the middle of the dance floor, moaning and clutching his arm. He’d later discovered that the dude made the mistake of trying to mess with Allura, and she’d simply grabbed his arm and flipped him right over her head.

He just had to worry about himself now. 

“The dog’s called Cosmo, by the way,” Keith said. He coughed. “Do you want tea?”

Lance shook his head. “I want proof and an explanation. You said you can predict when people die. What kind of bullshit is that?” He stood, giving the dog a farewell pat, and began to pace, dodging the pillows and odd blanket piles on the floor. “How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate conning scheme? Like, the ‘give me money and I’ll save you from death!’ kind. I’m not some sixteenth century Catholic. I’m a 2020 Catholic. Or not. I don’t know. Anyway.” He stopped short and sighed sheepishly. “Yeah. Proof. I want it. Because from where I stand, you’re full of shit.”

“Right,” Keith said, standing up straight and folding his arms. “First, we need a time frame. Where was your crash?”

Lance gave him the approximate area, frowning.

“That’s about an hour’s walk from here. Okay, we have a moment. If you want proof, I keep articles in that drawer over there. Forget the tea – I’m going to pack my shit.”

He strode into one of the rooms.

“Wait – what? What do you mean, pack?”

Keith stuck his head back out the door. “To pack for the journey. We’ve literally got to run.”

“What the fuck? What do you mean run?”

“Just read the articles!” Keith yelled from the next room. 

Lance shook his head and crouched next to the drawer. It was mostly empty, save for a haphazard stack of newspaper clippings that he had to scrabble at the base of the container in order to grab. They were faded and creased with obviously frequent handling.

The first headline, dark and bold, read: WOMAN IN TEXAS SAVED FROM TRAIN TRACKS, DIES THREE DAYS LATER. Then: TEXAN MAN PULLED FROM RIVER BY THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD BOY. EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD BOY FOUND DEAD IN TRUCK AFTER RUNNING AWAY WITH ADOPTED BROTHER. MAN NEARLY POISONED BY SNAKE, DISAPPEARS. 

They all seemed to have a common theme: a near-death experience followed by a true and ultimate death, usually with the involvement of an adolescent boy. Could the kid who kept cropping up in the articles be Keith? It wasn’t actual proof, by any means, but it resonated with Lance undeniably, reflecting his own situation in a way that was haunting. Was his own death inevitable? Was he going to have to run from it? What kind of life was that?

He could hear Keith thumping around in the bedroom. Lance made his way there after reluctantly pushing Cosmo’s head out of his lap and flopped against the doorway. True to the cliché, it looked like a bomb had exploded in Keith’s room – there were clothes on the floor, the bed, spilling out of the drawers, as well as odd artefacts like a cheap-looking speaker, a set of earphones and a couple of lighters. Keith’s room was surprisingly barren. The only personal item seemed to be a framed picture on the bedside table, which – though Lance couldn’t properly tell from a distance – looked to be depicting a younger Keith and a dark-haired older boy. The young Keith in the photo was grinning with gap teeth, a stark contrast to the young man currently rifling through the wardrobe near Lance, all darkly-dressed and snappy and scowling. 

Lance sat on the bed and started automatically folding Keith’s discarded clothing, just like Allura had taught him to do after she had become obsessed with Marie Kondo. Much of Keith’s wardrobe seemed to consist of skinny jeans and dark shirts, with the occasional pop of red or white or yellow in flannels and dress shirts and jackets. He had good taste. 

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, pausing in his chaos-making. He was holding what looked like a black crop-top, which he hid behind his back the second he saw Lance looking.

“Sorry!” Lance said, dropping the pile of clothes. “I like to keep my hands busy. It’s the ADD.”

“Ok. Please don’t touch my stuff.”

“Right. Sorry.” Lance shuffled away from the pile he had made. “So can you… explain to me how this whole thing works?”

Keith nodded, dropping the jacket he was holding, and sat with his back against the wardrobe, his arm draping over his knee. He blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Right. I’ll have to be quick, though, since I don’t know how long we have.”

Lance nodded.

Keith sighed. “Basically, I’ve been getting these visions since I was a kid. They’re all,” he waved his hands around his head, “purple-looking and shit, which is how I know they’re different from normal thoughts. Premonitions. About people dying. Like, for you, I saw you get hit by that crazy driver. That’s why I was staring at you, by the way. I’m not a creep.”

“I assumed you were checking me out. Most people do.”

Keith snorted derisively. “But I stopped it,” he continued. “I pulled you out of the way and now you’re on a different path, one that Death most definitely doesn’t want you to be on. So She’s going to try and take you back. I’ve never seen Her physically, but She walks, like how cavemen used to follow their prey until it dropped. She’s going to walk after you, wherever you go, for the rest of your life, until you’re too tired to keep going.”

Lance gripped the bedsheets. “So… you’re saying I’ve literally got a Grim Reaper following me? And magical premonitions and shit are real?” He forced a laugh. “I find that hard to believe.”

Keith shrugged. “I get that, man. But it’s the truth. I didn’t want to believe it either, until it literally consumed my life and I had to grow up.” He drummed his fingers against his knee. “Those articles you read? Those people managed to evade Her, but only for a little while. They rested too long, and Death caught them.”

“Were you the one who tried to save them?”

Keith nodded, his eyes dark. “The idea is that only solution is rebirth. You have to leave behind everything about the person that you were – burn it up. Then there’s a sort of ritual where you have to do a death-defying stunt, and if you survive that, then hopefully Death leaves you alone until it’s your time.”

“So I’ve got to… start all over again?”

“Exactly. You’ll have to keep moving constantly until you do. Well, we will.”

“Hang on – you’d come with me?”

Keith grinned wryly. “Believe me, I’m not excited about it either. But you’re going to need someone who can see Death coming, and who can help you through the ritual and stuff. Once you’re reborn, we’ll part ways as unlikely pals.”

Lance snorted. “I’m sure I can handle a death-defying ritual. I’ll just tell my ma that I forgot to do my laundry.”

Keith laughed under his breath. “You’ll need me there, Lance. I’m experienced in this field.”

“How experienced? How did you lean all this stuff? Have any of the people you’ve seen… well, survived?”

Keith shook his head. “Trial and error. And… no.”

Lance could feel himself growing cold. So what? He would have to somehow change himself, all the while running from the grim fucking reaper, in the company of a stranger? And it probably wouldn’t even work. He’d come to Keith with the hope of survival, not some half-baked plan and a spiel of bullshit. And there was the ever-present likelihood that it was all a lie.

Lance wanted to live – he wanted to find a job he loved, marry his soulmate, perhaps have kids. Not run for the rest of his precious time with his tail between his legs.

“Look, Lance, I know it’s not an ideal situation-”

“It’s the furthest fucking thing from an ideal situation.”

“-But in all honesty, it’s the only chance you’ve got. If you don’t go then you will die soon. I think I can make it work this time. I’ve been… I’ve been trying for a long time. I’d almost given up. But if you’re willing to, then I’d like to give it another go.”

“You really think you can do it?”

Keith sighed. “Honestly? I think I can only try.”

Lance flopped backwards onto the bed, running his hands down his face. “Why the fuck should I bother? Shouldn’t I go be with my family?” See the kids grown up, his brothers and sisters living with their spouses on the farm, his parents greying and still full of energy. Go take Allura to meet them, pretend for the only time he had left that they were still in love. He knew she’d do that for him, if he asked. Play happy families in order to make his parents happy.

“If you want to complete the ritual, you’ll have to go back to your childhood home anyway. When I mean destroy your old self, I really mean it. Artefacts, personal belongings, maybe even your apartment if you’ve grown attached to the place. So… you and I could make the journey, and you could decide on the way if you want to live the rest of your days with your family or complete the ritual and carry on running.”

Lance sat up, rubbing at his temples. “You want to burn all of my shit? Do you know how crazy that sounds? How do I even know that you’re not having me on?”

They were silent for a while. Then Keith leaned forward, his chin on his knee, so that he and Lance were making eye contact. His eyes were the colour of deep sea coral, a dark purple-brown with highlights of pure violet. They were eyes that Lance may have wanted to get lost in, in another time and another place and with another history. 

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” Keith said. “I can’t do much else for you.”

Lance was still for a while. Then he found himself nodding before he even knew that he meant it. He held his hand out to Keith, who shook it, the fabric of his gloves scratching against Lance’s skin. They held onto one another for a moment longer than necessary. Lance felt untethered once again, alone in a boat in a rocky and endless red ocean.

Keith stood, lifting Lance to his feet. “So you’ll take the trip?” he asked, still gripping Lance’s hand. It felt like they were making a pact, issuing a solemn promise, or perhaps enacting a solemn fantastical ritual. Lance found himself reluctant to breathe. “Like I said, we’ll have to go to your family house – you can decide on the way there what you want to do.”

Lance nodded. He had no idea what he was getting himself into – but nonetheless, here he was stood upon the prow, letting go of the rope and preparing to dive into the icy scarlet depths.

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

Keith grinned sardonically and dropped Lance’s hand. “Then we need to move fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2o4NYf53wBk7lMfpAlCQcU?si=7cDIyn2LSYSuFAPolknK3A
> 
> When I can, I’m going to name the chapters after songs - this chapter is named after Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers.  
> And, since the last chapter notes kept bugging, I’ll let you know here that c2 was named after A Loving Feeling by Mitski
> 
> Also, yes, I did include a throwaway line about Lance being ADD. This isn’t a personal headcanon, or some sort of assumption about Lance’s character based upon stereotypes - I just like including parts of myself in the characters I write. It’s not going to be a significant part of the story in any way.
> 
> Xxx


	4. Blue

Lance’s apartment consisted of two small rooms and a distinct lack of personality. Most of his things were at home, spilled haphazardly around his room in shades of white and blue and a constant burden upon his mother, who would often send him humorously passive-aggressive photographs in order to lecture him. His couches were discards from friends and Craigslist, everything from the kitchen cheap and a fire hazard. Keith had said something about destroying personal belongings, which didn’t amount to much in the end. He had a couple photographs, his earphones, his clothes, and a robot Pidge had gifted him as a going-away present which he had accidentally dropped down three flights of stairs after trying to race it alongside Acxa’s cat. The fact that he’d been barely rich enough to pay rent had kept him minimal. He packed his suitcase and slipped the key through the landlord’s letterbox, having already sorted everything.

It was liberating, he realised. Leaving the place he hadn’t come to love behind, packing his bag and heading for the road once again. It felt like a new chapter. Lance pushed away the terror, the reality of present danger, and allowed himself to feel hopeful. He was going home for the first time in a while. He was cleansing. It was like Marie Kondo - just to the extremity. 

He and Keith had parted ways temporarily in order to prepare for the trip. That was the strangest part to Lance – the finality of it. That they had suddenly decided on this strange cross-country return to Lance’s place, all in the name of rituals and rebirth and shit. Keith could still be a crazy person. But Lance didn’t find himself believing it, even as the thought crossed his mind. Whatever Keith’s deal was, Lance believed him entirely now, though he could acknowledge that this faith wasn’t entirely grounded in logic. But whatever. He was in, now, and he wasn’t going to let himself turn back. 

Allura made him hesitate. The old story. He was going to have to visit her and collect his belongings, which he knew would be stored safely back at her apartment. His most precious possessions had migrated there, which was really just his clothes. He and Allura shared socks and jeans and hoodies, which would all be packed neatly and tidily away in the boxes.

And then he’d have to say goodbye. Because, according to Keith, he could never see her again. He had to leave his old life behind, and she was the very definition of his history. The first girl he’d ever loved. Smart, brave, cunning, awkward, amazing. The thought of never seeing her again made Lance’s breaths come short. 

He took the tube, paranoid. But there was no sudden stop, no suspicious individuals, no flickering of the lights. Lance was apparently ahead of death. When he emerged, the night air was humid and rain-free, irritating his skin. He looked up at Allura’s building, pristine and modern, a stark contrast to Keith’s spindly apartment block. Lance didn’t allow for prolonged hesitation – he spun the suitcase in his hands and walked into the building, up the stairs and to her door. It was very nearly the middle of the night. Part of him hoped she wouldn’t even be awake – then she could make this decision for him, and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

But she opened the door. She was clearly tired and still lovely, in her nightdress and pink cat slippers.

“Allura-”

“Are you okay?” she asked, looking into his eyes. “You ran off.”

“Yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I got it sorted. Is everyone else alright? I just came back to get my stuff off your hands.”

“At-” she checked her phone. “Five minutes to twelve? Lance, be honest with me. I know it might be… well, you know… weird. But I can tell something is wrong.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets, sighing. “I’ve got to leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean?”

“Leave the city. Go away.”

“Back to your family?”

Lance’s shoulders slumped. “I… I don’t know.”

Allura cocked her head, then nodded like she had reached a conclusion. She stepped out of the doorway, arms open, and he fell into them. He dug his fingers into the tight curls of her hair, looking for that sense of groundedness and coming up short. Adrift, lost. She was warm and present and, God, he loved her, but he nonetheless felt lost and empty, the world spinning about his ears.

“Why did you break up with me?”

She shifted away. “Lance-”

“I don’t mean to pressure you,” he said, raising his arms in surrender. “Just… I want to know why. So there isn’t any uncertainty between us. Your friendship means more to me than anything – it always has. I want to know what I was doing wrong, so I don’t make the same mistakes in the future.”

Allura shook her head. “You should just come inside.”

It felt like a parody of old times. He followed her in and sat at the counter while she made them both tea. Her movements were efficient, as always, and he was mesmerised by her, calmed somewhat by her consistency. Even after they broke up, even after every change of the last twenty-four hours, she was undoubtedly herself. Once finished, she sat opposite him, cradling her mug in her long, delicate fingers, blowing away the steam so that it curled in tendrils between them like a dragon’s breath.

“Lance,” she began, sounding heavy and distant. “Who are you?”

“…I don’t understand.”

“If you could describe yourself, how would you?”

Lance leaned back. The instinct was to joke – loverboy, sexy genius, gem of the Garrison college. But Allura’s gaze held his with enduring intensity, and he found himself saying, “I don’t know.”

Allura nodded. “That’s what I mean. When I met you, you were… dynamic.” Lance opened his mouth and she chuckled lightly. “Don’t let that go to your head.” The smile slid from her mouth like it had melted. “In the beginning, it felt like you were alive, moving, full of potential. You flirted with every little thing that moved but I knew that you cared, which meant a lot. I knew you liked me, and I found myself liking you too, once I had time to collect my feelings. Our time was a lot of fun. But…” she looked him in the eyes, “you’re lost, Lance, in a way that was dragging me down with you. You try to hide it in stupid jokes, like that extremely unfunny one you told about my deceased father…”

Lance winced. 

“…but I know you well enough to know that underneath it all, you’re in a lot of pain. You’re lost and struggling and confused. And I felt myself falling into that. If I’d stayed with you, if I’d let you move in like you always wanted… I feel like I might have been lost with you.”

The silence hung between them like something dead. The tea cooled, untouched, in Lance’s hands, the monotony interrupted only by the heartless hum of the refrigerator, by Allura’s light breaths.

“But we would’ve been together,” he said quietly. 

“That’s not fair, Lance. You know it isn’t. I deserve somebody who’s the right fit for me. And so do you – you deserve to be someone’s first choice. Their entire world.”

He sighed, then forced a smile. “I know. Thanks for your honesty. Thanks for everything, Allura.” He stood, picking up his suitcase, letting the air from his lungs and every agonised feeling escape him in one fell swoop. “I’ll always be grateful for the time we had, and what you did for me. I hope you can find someone who will make you happy.”

“You too, Lance.”

They hugged once again, Lance burying his face in her white curls. He realised he was crying, a fact he did his best to conceal, but when she pulled away he realised she was crying too, silent and dignified tears tracing down her cheeks. He cupped her chin automatically and wiped them away with his thumb, his touch light, and when she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him he leaned into it, a soft sigh escaping his lips. The kiss lasted a moment less than he wanted it too – several moments. He wanted to press her into him, the yin to his yang, and fill some kind of void, some hole in him that was making him cry heavily, his hands shaking as they tangled in her hair. He wanted her, wanted understanding, wanted knowledge and safety. He wanted to feel her body against his like an answer, a touch of confirmation, and the yearning for completion gnawed at his stomach, giving the moment a bitter edge.

He pulled away from the embrace first, running his thumb along her jaw. She seemed grieved and understanding, knowledgeable and confused, as if the truth of what he was about to do hung between them in another language, indecipherable to them both.

“I’m going to miss you with all my heart,” he said, kissing one of the matching birthmarks beneath her eyes. “I love you, Allura.”

“I love you too, Lance,” she mumbled. 

He knew it wasn’t an admission of lingering affection, a desire for them to get back together, but an acknowledgement of their time, of all that they had been through while they had stood shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand. He picked up his suitcase and somehow all three of the boxes and turned away, out of the door and down the stairs without looking back. He could feel her watching him, imagine her hands out in the empty air, but he did not allow himself to look, knowing he wouldn’t be brave enough to continue running if he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the shorter chapter - I found myself getting stuck.
> 
> The playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2o4NYf53wBk7lMfpAlCQcU?si=7cDIyn2LSYSuFAPolknK3A  
> When I can, I’m going to name the chapters after songs - this chapter is Blue by MARINA


End file.
